


Iris King Among A Washed Out World

by ArgentAconit



Category: The Hobbit - All Media Types
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Bilbo Rights his Wrongs, Everybody Lives, Hobbits see in watercolor and smoke, M/M, Scent vision, Temporary Blindness
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-02-20
Updated: 2019-03-20
Packaged: 2019-03-21 12:20:21
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 7
Words: 20,080
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13740747
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ArgentAconit/pseuds/ArgentAconit
Summary: Hobbits are different than you or I. They live in cozy little homes tucked away under rolling hills and they fancy small round doors painted in brilliant shades of blue, green, red and yellow. The Shire is speckled with fragrant flowers, tall grasses, bramble bushes and grand fields of food as far as the eye can see. Trees will pick and choose where they want to grow, crowding around into a tall, old forest or decorating the roofs of hobbit smials. Bushes are much the same but allow the hobbits to push them around and groom them.However, there is something else about the shire that is special. Or should we say, something about hobbits? You see, Hobbits don't see the same way we do. Hobbits see the world in plumes of fragrances and brilliant hues of color. Hobbits see in rainbows of emotion. And when a Hobbit gets a stuffy nose, well they're just blind to the world around them! Now, what is Bilbo supposed to do when a combination of ice-cold Lake Town water and bitter, slimy Mirkwood plagues him with a cold? How will he ever manage to carry out his contract with this?





	1. Diseased

**Author's Note:**

> This is mostly just a little brainchild that grew overnight. I was watching the second movie (Desolation of Smaug) again and the thought came to mind when they stayed in Beorn's house. I just hope I'll be able to convey this idea well enough for you all to enjoy! I don't think this will be an exceedingly long story at all, especially considering my starting point but we'll give it a good running go and see if we can pull off a little fix-it along the way.

 

“This forest feels sick,” Bilbo said, looking on at the cacophony of fungus, oozing bark and darkened limbs collected in front of them. Bands of orange filled his mind, breathing weak and struggling life through the sickly sweet, cloying dampness of decay and disease. It made him shudder and his feet automatically took a step backward, and then three more until he was beside the ponies again. Their labored breath and anxieties intermingled with his own and he tried his best to keep himself calm as Gandalf examined the gate and the pale weak scented stones that made up beautifully carved statues coated in swaths of rushing ivy. Green and soft and dying.

 

Bilbo jerked forward when Gandalf ripped them away from the stone and felt like someone had pulled his stomach up into his ribs. The plants hadn’t deserved it, not in the slightest but the wizard didn’t understand the greenery like Bilbo did. His heart ached as they wilted under Gandalf’s firm grip before he tossed them down. The hobbit swallowed drily and fingered the ring through the thinned pocket of his vest. “I must go elsewhere,” The wizard declared, moving toward Bilbo who was standing where ponies had fled, only now accompanied by a stamping horse who wanted to be there less than the hobbit did.

 

He turned his eyes upward toward a face made of old smoke, buttered rolls, fresh milk, and magic. Dregs of musk and old sweat filled in the areas of Gandalf’s beard and Bilbo frowned, “Where must you go now? You’ve only just returned.”

 

“There is something that I must tend to, Master Hobbit.” Bilbo watched as layers of greys and soft blues and lingering wisps of pinks shifted around to accommodate threads of worry, dark and purple. They tangled themselves into Gandalf’s hair, twisted into his eyebrows, lingered where his eyes must be and puffed thinly from his nostrils. Bilbo hated this shade of purple, he wished he wasn’t able to scent it in the first place. It had become all too common ever since he had stepped out of his smial.

 

They trekked through the sick woods at a dizzying pace. Slow and backward and overlapping. After images of dwarves lingered at the edges of his vision and the dazed murmurings of the company played tricks on his ears. They had lost their path. The cobbled stones and soft red bricks that smelt of clays had long faded from their sights. A scent tickled the back of Bilbo’s throat- similar in a way to Gandalf’s magic but…. Less like the tang of a lightning storm and more like the murk of stagnant waters long forgotten in the shades of caves and caverns. It felt like a thread he couldn’t get rid of, and desperately had he tried to get rid of it!

 

No one noticed his half-empty skin of water by the time the spiders had descended on them. He had been too greedy, sucking in the fresh clean air that stole his breath and cleansed it of the rot that had begun to grow in the underside of the trees. His hands clung to the remaining life of orange leaves as wafts of fresh blues and sweet peaches brought brilliance to his vision again. He could see crisp cool wetness to the left of the warm bloom of golden sunrise in front of him. He could remember smelling that when Thorin said they could see the lonely mountain from the carrocks.

 

His heart had fluttered in hope, the light blues and deep teals of deep water were close, fresh and unsalted to his upturned nose. “We’re not that far!” He had called, and then the sound of creaking snapping branches followed his words. The wind turned, warning him of danger slithering toward him like some dark thing breaking through the cracks of healthy orange that made up a sea of trees beneath him. His stomach twisted, his heart thundered, and his words soured on his tongue.

 

~~~

 

The dungeon paths of Mirkwood were stale and damp, the air thickened with soft hues of elvish magic that stuck sweetly to the tip of his tongue and bitterly to his nostrils. Each of his dwarves was carefully locked away from him behind bars of metal, coated in sweat and breath and a different scented iron. Further down was fresher air, cool and fragrant with spiced, cured meats, fermented wines, barrels of fruits and green things. He was greedy here, too.

 

He hid among a barrel of apples and pears, tucked into a corner with a small forgotten keg of cinnamon bark and nutmeg. The cellars reminded him of his larder in some ways. Patches of warm smells lighting his vision in familiarity, darker splotches of greens tempting his curiosity to test, taste, and savor what was there. No, he had to resist this much. Thorin and the others were surviving off of scraps of hard cheese, stale pieces of bread and still water. He shouldn’t be down in the cellars lavishing himself in the scents of wines and spices and fresh fruits.

 

The sharp chime of keys rattled his sensitive ears and Bilbo perked as he listened to the elf in charge of the cells. A muddled vision of the key ring lingered on the far wall and Bilbo pieced together more plans as the elves talked rather loudly about the barrels being late going down the river. There was a feast tonight, long and bountiful; he wanted to sneak upstairs and see it for himself, watch as royals and guards and court ladies indulged their senses with fragrant wonders. Would it be anything like the shire? Would Thrandruil see him through the whitewashed haze if Bilbo slipped his ring back onto his finger just to peek through the grand, heavy doors of the dining halls above his head?

 

Bilbo waited for the eves to drift into a drunken sleep before walking slowly through the confusing paths of curling stone. He tried not to focus too much on the fresh steps that tickled his throat with the smell of spider blood and chose to instead pick out the sounds of each dwarf until he found Thorin’s cell. True to the coats and crests of Durin, the air that marked Thorin’s bars was tinged in deep blues, laced with pale silvers, and weighed down with emotions that Bilbo hadn’t been able to piece together yet.

 

“It looks like I am going to pull you lot out of trouble again,” Bilbo breathed, watching as Thorin’s face was pulled forth from the dark corner of his cage. The hobbit smiled crookedly and held up the collection of keys, having to shush the others when cheers tried to erupt from each lattice door past him. Beautiful puffs of swirling relief colored the darker shades of emotion as Thorin laid eyes on their burglar and Bilbo hoped beyond all hope that he could hide the gentle plumes of lavender that snuck past the collar of his shirt.

 

Hobbits hated water. Well, they didn’t  _hate_  water. Water was important for a lot of things, baths, soups, stews, tea, growing plants. However, Hobbits did not like deep water that required for them to swim in order to stay above the surface. They didn’t enjoy the rushing white sound that roared through their ears, blocking out every sound that could direct and guide them. This kind of water made them blind, and Bilbo was terrified of being blinded especially when one of the few sounds he had managed to pick up was the war call of an orc as they fled Mirkwood.

 

Bilbo also didn’t fancy nearly drowning either. His lungs felt heavy with water and he desperately wanted to collapse onto the pebble beach after being so thoroughly battered by the river. It reawakened old aches from his tumble down the trees, and the icy cold feeling in his feet and hands didn’t add any sense of pleasure to it. What was worse was the weak scents of his dwarves. Washed by the silt bottom of the winding waters, rinsed by cold breaths of icy blue colors. It made him anxious in a different way and he tried his best to stick close to at least one of them in some manner.

 

He spied Kili sitting nearby and frowned at the remnants of blacks and greys that crackled along his leg, oozing down his thigh and painting the rock he was perched on. He stumbled over and realized that Bofur was there as well, catching his breath and ringing out his silly hat. Bilbo could barely make out the upturned ears of the cap as it was pulled back down over Bofur’s head. “You’re sick,” He snuffled, blue eyes turning back to Kili who was slowly gaining color from the warm sunlight washing over him.

 

Kili was fascinating to look at sometimes. He was a mix of peaches and golds, hued in lavenders and often overcast by deep purples and dismal dark greys. The greys came through when they ran past settlements, the purples when enemies were spoken of. Lavenders and silvers it up his features whenever Fili was around, or whenever he was enjoying himself. Bilbo enjoyed seeing him so happy and so open when most of the other dwarves kept their hues to themselves. Bilbo also liked the hints of fresh cut wood and ground stone that clung to Kili. There were the occasional tufts of oil and snippets of pipeweed as well, and Bilbo would often find himself wondering if Kili would blend in well with hobbits if he had the chance.

 

“I’m fine,” Kili replied firmly. Bilbo doubted that to be true in the slightest. He offered his necktie for Bofur to bind the arrow wound on the prince’s thigh and again they were whisked away onto the water, thankfully not touching it physically. It still twisted Bilbo’s stomach, and the fogs that blurred his sight only strengthened his anxiety.

 

He ended up chatting in short bursts with Bard, a man that smelled like lake and forest and faintly of wine from handling some of the barrels. The warm shades of the furs of his coat helped Bilbo identify him the easiest outside of his height and he tried his best not to let his panic show as he realized that the fog wasn’t the only thing dulling the world around him. Kili wasn’t the only one ailing, it seemed. This didn’t bode well.

 

~~~

 

Wet. Murky. Dull. Cold. Bilbo sniffed to try and clear his palette only to find he couldn’t get much air through his small nose at all. He clenched his teeth to keep them from chattering and nuzzled down into the scratchy wool blanket that had been thrown around his shoulders. The fire burned low and he couldn’t even catch a hue of warm reds from it. Everything was washed out. The fire was powder pink, the room was just the slightest hint of tan. His dwarves, once bright and boisterous with vivid shades of emerald, vermillion, indigo, amber, and magentas were faint, fuzzy tones of…. Sickness.

 

The hobbit drew his knees to his chest and tightened his arms around them, trying not to mourn his blindness as people entered and left his range of sight. The only reassuring thing telling him he hadn’t been left alone was their constant arguing between one another. The sounds settled the frayed nerves he was starting to notice, but the scentless world around him kept the tension in his small shoulders.

 

Lake Town had been hospitable enough once Thorin revealed who they were and what they were planning to do. Erebor would once again supply riches to Lake Town, and Dale would once more be rebuilt. Croppings of warm soft yellow stones would spring forth from the desolate mountains and beautiful banners of various colors would fly. Bilbo didn’t really understand this part, but the city of Bree talked in this manner too. He assumed it was just a thing among menfolk. Nothing for a hobbit to be wary of but certainly nothing for him to partake in either.

 

There was a sumptuous party in their honor and the company had been offered to stay in one of the larger houses of the town. Spiced beef and smoked fish were featured on the tables, but Bilbo found his appetite desperate for the few fruits and vegetables he could make out at the feast. He hoarded roasted sweet potatoes and bits of wheat bread and cradled cabbage soup to his chest like it was a child. Tea was a precious commodity that he sipped gratefully when Dori presented it to him, and he wished he could just taste what he was sure was chamomile. It made him drowsy.

 

He eventually found himself drifting off to sleep in one of the beds that were too large for someone like him. Music and laughter rang through the halls below and Bilbo wanted to just block them all out in the hopes of waking up tomorrow being able to _see_  again. He nearly jumped clean out of his skin when a heavy weight dropped down beside him. They had already discussed that the beds would be shared amongst the company. He hadn’t expected he’d have someone join him while he was still awake. “Turning in so soon, Bilbo?”

 

The hobbit turned over to make out Kili’s faint figure beside him. His colors had darkened even more the longer they stayed in Lake Town. He warred with himself over whether he should find Oin to report Kili’s obvious illness, or if he should stay in the one place he finally felt warm in after reaching this soggy town. “I think all of the water might have gotten to me,” He admitted, nose stuffy and Westeron words coming out in a funny tone.

 

Kili pulled his legs up onto the mattress and Bilbo moved further over so the dwarf had ample room for his wounded leg, “What do you mean?” He asked, voice filtered in curiosity.

 

“I think I’ve come down with something. It’s been brewing ever since that sick forest,” Bilbo sighed and pulled the thick blanket up further to cuff around his ears. He jerked when a far too warm hand touched his forehead and cast an anxious look at Kili’s face.

 

“Why, you’re cold as ice!” The words were hissed out between teeth and Bilbo curled into himself in shame. He didn’t expect the prince to be so shocked, was it really unexpected? His fingers twisted in the covers more as Kili moved to stand, “I’ll be back, I’m going to get Oin. You stay right where you are.”

 

By the time Oin had finished his examination and declared Bilbo was plagued with the common cold, Bilbo’s room was filled with every dwarf of the company. Dwarf after dwarf was crammed into every available space there. Kili had eventually been pushed back down into the bed, stretched along the foot where Bilbo could just barely reach him if he tried. “A cold isn’t too much to be worried about.” Bilbo heard Thorin growl. He didn’t sound angry but Bilbo couldn’t really be sure at this point.

 

“Dwarves are made of peculiar things if a stuffy nose doesn’t hinder you,” Bilbo muttered before trying in vain to breathe deep through his reddening nose. He blamed Mirkwood again and tried his best to seem proper in front of those he could make out.

 

“Does that mean that you’re particularly sensitive about it Laddie?” Oin asked, putting away his tools. Bilbo huffed and sleepily narrowed his eyes at the healer. Really, could he be a healer if he didn’t understand how Bilbo felt right now? Why he was completely vulnerable and useless right now, and they were so close to their goal!

 

“Of course, Master Oin! I can’t very well see you lot right now as it is. If I were blind back in Bag End I wouldn’t be so anxious- I’ve at least memorized where everything is there. We’re on a quest though- how am I supposed to go anywhere if I can’t  _see where I’m bloody going!_ ” Bilbo hadn’t meant to snap at him, truly he hadn’t. He was completely miserable though and felt his emotions ripping through him.

 

“Blind?” Oin sounded shocked and Bilbo frowned but before he could mention anything else Oin’s hands were on his face again, followed by the brilliant warmth of a candle touching his cheeks. Bilbo weakly slapped at the hands prodding his eyelids and sighed as Oin swiftly avoided his attempts. If only Bilbo could find something green and living to help encourage better health. This dreadful floating town only pushed him to suffer more and more.

 

“Don’t you go scent blind when you get sick?” Bilbo asked instead. Murmuring broke through the room and Bilbo had a hard time keeping track of it all. Bifur was the loudest but the hardest to understand and Bilbo felt a headache coming on when no one gave him a clear, concise answer.

 

Oin was muttering about how his eyes reacted to the candlelight and Kili was shifting on the bed to tuck Bilbo in further when he felt the coolness of his feet. It would have been endearing if it weren’t for Bofur offering a shot of Brandy that would warm Bilbo up and make him feel right as rain. Bilbo didn’t want to feel like rain, thank you, he just wanted to get some rest!

 

“Enough!” Thorin’s rumbling tones filled the room and everyone fell silent to listen to their leader, “Clear out of here and go get some rest. Our burglar needs to sleep. If he isn’t well tomorrow we’ll deal with it then.”

 

“He’s cold, uncle,” Kili piped in. Bilbo looked down at his feet and realized there was a weight wrapped around one of his ankles. He tried to subtly shake it off but Kili’s grip only tightened further and forced Bilbo into giving in.

 

“Aye, he’ll need to be kept warm lest it turns into something worse.”

 

“I’ll do it,” Nori volunteered, a sly grin on his face. Dori immediately pushed his brother out of the room with a very firm no before pulling Ori along after him and leaving as well. Bombur departed without anyone noticing and Gloin had left when Thorin ordered them all out earlier. Bilbo could hear him downstairs being loud and ordering up another spiced mead.

 

“Kili needs to be looked at,” Bilbo breathed, lifting his face enough to push the covers away from his mouth. Oin hummed and Bilbo felt Kili squeeze harder around his ankle. He smiled down at the prince and sniffled, “It’s only fair. Even from here I can still smell that you’re sick.”

 

“Traitor,” Kili grumbled, making Fili chuckle from the other corner of the bed. The younger brother kicked out at the blonde and hissed as it pulled on the torn muscles in his thigh. Oin was hovering instantly and ordering Kili to let him look at it. Thorin waved the rest of the dwarves out, leaving his nephews and Oin in the room.

 

Bilbo started to drift off when he thought everything was settled, but once again the bed dipped with added weight as the sound of cloth shifted. He groggily blinked open his eyes and tried to make sense of his surroundings. Warmth enveloped him, raising chills over his skin and causing him to immediately burrow into it. A low chuckle reverberated against his skull and Bilbo froze as he realized he was nosing into the dark folds of Thorin’s tunic. This close he could smell the king again. This close made his heart rabbit in his ribcage. This close, Thorin felt like safety and bliss and while his instincts told him to run, he couldn’t help but slowly relax again.

 

He sighed and pressed a small hand against the furnace-like warmth of Thorin’s chest, touching the fine threads of his blue tunic, thoroughly tangled with the smell that only belonged to the king, and just faintly, partially belonged to the princes at his feet. He could smell dwarvish tobacco and sweet mead, herbed bread and spices as well but Thorin was much more than that. Thorin was blue and silver and occasionally he was lavender and the cool crispness of autumn, the mineral scent of stone, the gentle peach of warmth. Thorin was a rainbow of color and Bilbo was enamored by it in every sense of the word.

 

“Now explain to us what you mean by being blind, Halfling.” Bilbo could feel every word rattle through his body and it made his toes curl. He nestled further into the cocoon of warmth that was provided and sighed into the cloth at his face. It stained it in faint olive greens and dower hues of yellow.

 

“Hobbits….” He trailed off as he tried to think of how to explain. Thorin was patient enough to let him gather his thoughts. “We see through scents. Our eyes connect with our noses and show us many different things. Scent is important, so when we can’t breathe through our nose the world is lost to us.”

 

Kili muttered sharply when Oin jabbed at his arrow wound and Bilbo sought out the brunette with a large foot, touching his ribcage lightly. It made the dwarf laugh as his toes wiggled over a ticklish spot before Oin snapped that he needed to sit still. Bilbo smiled at the sounds, “We can pick up certain colors through scents. Plants are green, for example; but plants are many different shades of green. The shire has old green and new green, strong lasting green, and green that only survives the warm seasons. Whether my green is the same green that you see, I’m not sure. People are colors too, and while some races have a certain color palette to them, there are people among them who lack those colors and are still the same race. Like dwarves. Dwarves are reds and browns and greys. Dwarves smell like stone and smoke and metal and oil. Dwarves smell like pride and scrutiny and strength. But the company smells like more than Dwarf. The company has more color than just your race, some don’t even have the color of your race.”

 

Thorin hummed shortly and Bilbo tried to keep his ears open to hear what he might say. He could feel a thick thumb rubbing against his spine and oh didn’t that feel lovely? His ears twitched in contentment and Bilbo pressed his forehead against Thorin’s shirts. He couldn’t find it in himself to be embarrassed by his actions, not when he was sick, not when he was tired. He could bloom into a glowing shade of pink embarrassment tomorrow when the sun rises and they begin their quest anew. “I see… And what do we look like to you right now?”

 

Bilbo made a sound voicing his question and he blinked his eyes open once more to examine everyone there. “Pale. Greyed out and foggy like riding through the thick air on Bard’s barge. Oin is supposed to be green and brown and purple. I really don’t like purple. Purple always means worry. Green makes sense, he’s a healer, he has to handle green things for his work. His hands are green, his face is green, patches of his clothes and boots are green…. His ears are brown, and his hair,” Bilbo smiled slightly, though it didn’t quite reach his eyes, “His breath is purple, and so is his neck and parts of his beard. Oin has always had purple in his beard, he tugs on it when he’s worried and the color has stained it that way.”

 

He looked over to Kili, who hadn’t moved away from his foot against his ribs, but Bilbo could feel him staring expectantly at the hobbit. Bilbo could see the cloud of anxiety stretching over his chest the longer he was quiet and knew that Kili worried he didn’t look very dwarvish at all in Bilbo’s mind. “Kili is blue and brown and metal,” Bilbo finally confessed. He sniffed again and missed how easily air used to pass through his nose, “He smells like stone and warmth and new green things. He smells like a dwarf, but he’s much more than dwarf. He’s an archer and has a certain kindness and childishness to him. Kili is an array of peaches, golds, and lavenders usually. Bright and warm and loving,” A wash of silver relief took away the plume of anxiety Kili had been nursing, but Bilbo frowned. “But Kili also smells sick and wounded. His leg is black and reminds me of Mirkwood, it keeps spreading up and up and down into his boot.”

 

It took a while longer to gather everything for Fili. The older prince had been touching Kili so much that it was hard to pick him apart from the other. He remembered how Fili looked before in Bag End and smiled to himself at the memory of them providing their service to him. “Fili is much like his brother. They stick together so much that it is hard for me to tell them apart sometimes if it weren’t for the other scents. He shares the metal scent, but he is red and grey and strong. I look at him and see hues of gold and a wash of cautious prideful orange. Fili worries about his brother and his family, forcing purple to tangle around his mustache braids and over his eyebrows, even down his throat. He smells like oil and the cooling alum tang of Jade. His hands are dark grey with strength. At least that's what he's supposed to look like when I'm not like this.”

 

When Bilbo sat his head back down on his pillow he let out a long breath and wondered if he could get away with finding himself a glass of water. The arms still around his back squeezed however and Bilbo’s ears lit up bright red at the action. “And me, Burglar? What is it that you see when you turn your nose towards me?” Thorin's voice was lower and Bilbo could feel his breath ghosting through his curls on the top of his head. He twitched and balled his hand against Thorin’s tunic.

 

Bilbo swallowed thickly and cleared his throat, “You share similarities with your nephews. You’re more than just dwarf as well,” He hesitated to continue but Kili wrapped his hand around his foot and urged him on. Who was the traitor now? “There are so many different colors that cling to you at once that I’m often left wondering how it’s even possible for a dwarf to be so expressive and eye-catching. There are parts of you that remind me of autumn, warm and yet cool, with the thick smell of wet earth and smoke from forges and pipeweed. You’re a deep midnight blue with a silver halo and peach skin,” Bilbo could feel his embarrassment caressing over his cheeks now.

 

He looked up cautiously at Thorin’s face, “I see your anger frequently, and your impatience. You hide in snobbish shades of vermillion and when you are fighting I see your vengeance and anguish. Your emotions change so quickly that I get headaches just trying to understand what it is you’re thinking to go from warm peach tones to hues of violet, to silvers and lavenders. There are so many colors when it comes to you that sometimes it feels like you are teaching me a scent I have never experienced before.”

 

Oin coughed and slapped Fili on the shoulder, “Give me a hand lad, we need to get Kili to a wash basin. The skin is irritated and it doesn’t look like there is much healing tissue. We’ll have to give it a thorough cleaning.” Kili bemoaned that he didn’t want to get up, and Fili pulled him into a sitting position by the arm, following the healer’s order as best as he could. It took time for them to leave the room, but Bilbo was left with Thorin and suddenly the hobbit felt like he was far too close to the king under the mountain.

 

He tried to move back from the dwarf, and Thorin allowed it to a degree, stopping him when he tried to move out of arms reach with a strong palm on his side. “It appears you spend most of your time trying to dissect me, Halfling.” Bilbo murmured weakly that his name wasn’t Halfling, and Thorin rumbled a laugh that he felt he should treasure deeply for how little the king let his humor show. “Bilbo.”

 

His name made chills run through his body again and he bit his lip to try and stifle them, as well as the pleased sigh that threatened to leave his throat. Such a simple thing as his name could color the air around him in a breeze of lavender and he wished it weren’t so easy to raise that emotion from him. “Someone has to watch after you. Picking fights with elves and men, performing grand speeches that have them offering this decorated home to us for our stay.”

 

Thorin hummed in agreement and moved closer to him, making Bilbo bite his lip harder and squirm backward a little more. The dwarf closed the space however and Bilbo went still at the sensation of his hot forehead pressed to his own cool skin. He could taste Thorin’s breath on his lips and his tongue peeked out to gather it without his permission. “And if I were to say that I appreciated your attention?” Thorin asked. Bilbo’s world was awash in lavenders and pinks and golds with veins of silver streaking through him.

 

He didn’t answer, closing his eyes to the wonders that were being gifted to him, only to press his forehead against Thorin’s in return. There must be a spell cast around Lake Town that raised the king’s courage and made him feel invincible if he was indulging Bilbo in such closeness with dark magenta strands of passion. Maybe it was the spell of a dragon under the mountain just a lake away from here. Maybe it was the spell of an unknown future and the desire to have someone to share it with. Bilbo wasn’t certain but it must be affecting him as well because he was leaning forward to touch his lips against Thorin’s.

 

A surge of lightning sparked over his skin and through his bones, only slightly dulled by the feeling of sickness that clung to him. Thorin’s lips were chapped but soft against his own and yielded to the gentle motion that Bilbo dared to use. The world unraveled around him when those gentle motions were overpowered by the soft wet heat of Thorin’s persistence. If any lingering sensation of chill had been in his body, Bilbo thought that the warmth being poured into him snuffed it out immediately. His hands tangled into the sable fur of Thorin’s coat and the waves of his hair to try and keep something near him to ground him.

 

Thorin tasted faintly of the feast, and Bilbo followed a trail of spices over Thorin’s lips and against his tongue, greedily lapping at it. Hands tightened against his ribcage and Bilbo hissed softly, only to lose the wet cavern of Thorin’s mouth suddenly. “Have I hurt you?” Thorin asked.

 

Bilbo shook his head and waved a hand between them to brush it off. “No, my ribs just hurt from the ride down the river. Got banged around a bit on the rocks. I wasn’t exactly lucky enough to be in one of the barrels is all. I’m fine, if anything was broken I would have told Oin.”

 

Thorin muttered under his breath about stubborn hobbits and Bilbo gasped as his shirt was lifted. A pained sound left Thorin's throat and Bilbo imagined that he was well decorated in scrapes and scent patches of blood and bruises. He tried to push his shirt back down but Thorin’s hand was there to stop him, touching wearily at each mark over his thinned belly and around his ribcage. “Some of these are older than the others.”

 

Bilbo, of course, had been caught. He ducked his head and tried again to push his shirt back into place, “Yes, well, maybe it wasn’t just the river I had a hard time with. Really I’m fine, what does a fall through the goblin caves or a tumble through tree limbs have to do with any of it? You all were hurt much more by the fighting. I didn’t want you to think I was a weakling for complaining about bruising and a few scrapes.”

 

Thorin still touched him like frail glass and Bilbo reached down to stop his hand, lacing his fingers over the space between his thumb and his palm. That shade of purple that Bilbo always hated made an appearance, tingeing the beautiful, soft colors that had been between them and snuffing out the bands of passionate, deep magenta Thorin had shared with him. “You’ll let Oin examine them in the morning.” It wasn’t a request but a determined and firm statement.

 

If it weren’t for the worry clouding Thorin’s face from his view, Bilbo felt like it could be almost endearing to see that he had a king fretting over his health. “If there is time I’ll pull him to the side.”

 

“I will make time for it,” Bilbo’s ears pinkened again and he rested his forehead against Thorin’s scruffy chin. His hand was squeezed by a callous paw and the cover Bilbo had been so fond of was finally pulled back over his smaller body. Their moment had passed, and Bilbo found himself suddenly thankful for it. He had no idea what they would have attempted to do otherwise, and really he didn’t want to be caught like that by the trickster princes or by the healer. “Get some sleep, Bilbo.”


	2. Grey

He woke up to the pleasant sensation of being warm, weighed down and held close. It was dark outside if the quiet lapping of water on the walkways was any sign of the time. After all, if it had been light out there would be menfolk everywhere taking care of their jobs and their children. He burrowed further into his pillow and felt his cover tangle closer to him, returning the motion into the nape of his neck. It felt wonderfully blissful. However, he did notice something. His comfort was given to him by more than one dwarf.

 

A snore sounded out against the bend of his knee and Bilbo groggily lifted his head to look down, only nothing came to him. Everything was dark grey and still and his stomach twisted at the revelation. Despite taking the herbal tea Oin had procured for him and keeping warm with his pack of royals, his sense of smell was still gone- in fact, it was completely gone now. He couldn’t even get the slightest hint of air through his nostrils and it put quite the damper on his mood.

 

Kili snuffled into his knee and Bilbo tried not to draw up into himself from how it tickled. His pillow shifted and Bilbo sat his hand over it only to find Fili’s furs scrubbing over his palm. The blonde was surprisingly soft and gentle despite the stocky body Bilbo knew dwarves were usually gifted with. This, of course, left Thorin to be curled against him, one leg hooked over his own, boot likely resting against Kili in some way. The hobbit felt his cheeks heat at the thought of Thorin so thoroughly cloaking him and he tried not to squirm too much against him.

 

He knew that the king slept the least amount in comparison to the others of the company and Bilbo felt selfish in wanting to give him even just a few extra moments, especially in a warm bed with his kin so close to him. They were nearing the end of their quest, nearing the mountain that Thorin so desperately desired to reclaim… Nearing a threatening dragon that Bilbo had no clue how he would face. How long did they have to find the door that they would sneak through? How long would he be blinded by this cold?

 

Thorin’s thick arms tightened around his waist and Bilbo relaxed back against him as best he could without dislodging Kili from his legs or Fili from underneath his head. He listened to the steady breathing against his shoulders and let it ground him, let it rinse away the cloud of anxiety clinging to him as he was sure it had been. Bilbo nosed back into Fili’s coat and felt him stutter on a deep inhale before the to-be-king turned on his side and wrapped around him much like a cat snuggling about a generous ball of woolen yarns. A rough hand dropped to tangle through his brassy curls and stroke over his pointed ear. The sensation sent a heavy shiver through him and Bilbo found himself clinging to Fili’s furs to try and fend the shiver off.

 

No, the blonde prince didn’t understand the sensitivity his ears held and Bilbo highly doubted that he ever would- especially since he refused to tell them if they should ever ask. The last thing he needed was to be teased for the pleasant way his skin hummed at just a soft, warm stroke of a calloused fingertip over the gentle ridges around the curl of his ear. It wasn’t so much an attraction to Fili that caused his reaction, no just about anyone could touch him as the slumbering dwarf had and Bilbo was certain he would have still done the same. Well, perhaps not anyone. He doubted he would shudder in pleasure if an orc or goblin thought to tease his ears. 

 

He turned back to putting together his surroundings. Only the four of them were settled here, door pulled tightly closed but not locked, fire long gone out judging by the slight chill in the air. The wind whistled anxiously through the cracks of thick-paned windows and Bilbo ducked under the cover thrown over him and Thorin as it kissed his cheek and the point of his nose. Even having Fili’s warmth there couldn’t prevent it from reaching him and suddenly Bilbo was very happy to have stayed in bed for the last few minutes.

 

“Do you intend to sleep all morning?” The words rumbled through his ribcage and curled his toes as his body tensed. Thorin was very much awake and not at all asleep. He bit the inside of his cheek and slowly peeked out of the blanket, though he couldn’t turn to face the silver crowned leader tucked to his spine. What was he meant to say? Yes? No? How was he meant to have gotten up when three stubborn dwarves pinned him down and made the bed so very inviting?

 

“I intended to let you all rest for a while longer,” He replied, voice pitched low so Thorin’s nephews wouldn’t be jolted awake. His words came out stuffy and sick sounding. Thorin’s arms twisted him away from Kili and Fili who groaned in tired protest before they each settled back down. Bilbo blinked at where he assumed Thorin’s face was meant to be and frowned at him as the brisk air made him very aware of the lack of covers, “What?” His cocoon had been sacrificed and if he could find out why maybe he could climb back into the dimple he had made for himself before it cooled.

 

“You’re going to Oin,” Thorin stated. Any hint of tiredness had left him when Bilbo spoke and now the hobbit was sure he’d never be allowed to nest up in bed. He did however protest when Thorin made to carry him, not like a sack of potatoes but like some damsel with a sprained ankle. While he thought he wouldn't mind it in the future when their relationship was stable and strong, right now he was far too flustered to be seen as Thorin's bride being carried over a doorway!

 

“I’m able to walk, thank you!” He squeaked, face thoroughly warmed and ears pinned back delicately in embarrassment. He tumbled out of Thorin’s grip and straightened himself on the ground, going so far as to retuck his shirt and straighten his borrowed coat. What he wouldn’t do for a proper set of clothes fit for a hobbit to change into. Of course the chilly halls of the house had him drawing the oversized coat around him even further. He was grateful for the warm lining of it even if the thing had smelt musty when it was dropped into his lap at Bard's house.

 

When it became clear that Bilbo didn’t know where Oin was, Thorin took him by the elbow and lead, mindful enough to avoid the tables and the tipped chairs that littered their paths. Bilbo tried fruitlessly to memorize his steps and clear his nose at the same time. It left him sniffling and leaning into the dwarf’s side in defeat as they traveled up another set of steps to the rest of the rooms. He could hear Gloin’s thunderous snores and Bifur’s sleep-filled mumbling here. Never did he think that the noisy sleepers would soothe him and bring some sense of clarity until this morning.

 

“Oin!” Thorin spoke sharply so the hard of hearing healer would wake. His tone made Bilbo’s ears twitch as it left a ringing in the air. The other dwarves in the room let out various groans or rolled on creaking boards when they realized they weren't the ones being called upon. Bilbo wished he could steal under one of them and soak in the warmth they liked to exude.

 

His arms wrapped around himself and slipped his fingers into his armpits to try and keep the tiny digits warm as he listened to booths thrum against the wooden planks underfoot. There must be a few things in the way between him and the healer, he figured. He moved left and right, scuffing his boots against the creaking floorboards and Bilbo tried to follow the sounds, tilting his head this way and that and jumping when Oin cursed as he ran into an end table. That must smart a good deal.

 

When Oin eventually made it past his nearly endless maze of furniture, dwarf and no doubt dishes, he reached forward and pushed his hand against Bilbo’s forehead. The hobbit shrank back from the unexpected touch and crowded into Thorin’s side with a guilty expression, “Sorry, I just… I need some warning.” He felt Thorin’s hand slide around to rest on the back of his shoulder and he felt a little more stable. The healer grunted and judging from the rustle of fabric he motioned for them to go out of the room so the others could continue to sleep off their ale.

 

Bilbo stumbled on more than one occasion while trying to judge the depth of each uneven stair, but Thorin and Oin were patient with him, one walking in front and the other at his side as they made their way to the main floor. It was much colder down here than it had been upstairs and Bilbo immediately regretted that they had to leave on such a humid, cold day. He listened as the dwarves talked to each other- likely about him and his role in the quest. It irritated him to be talked about as though he weren’t in the room but by now he’d grown to expect it from them.

 

He shuffled around and brushed his hands over surfaces of tables, vases, chairs, and the edges of dishes in an attempt to find a seat near the unlit fireplace. Not that he could remember what the room had looked like before his nose failed him, but he did try to put some kind of logic behind his hunt. When he found a soft, tall backed chair he hooked a knee into it and lifted himself into the seat with a deep sigh. It felt like it had been set out in the lake to freeze but soon enough the hobbit felt it stealing his warmth and holding it for him. The fabric was smooth but picked in some places when he touched around the arms. They loomed over his shoulders and Bilbo found himself curling into one of them only for Oin to clear his throat and approach.

 

“Thorin tells me you’ve patterned yourself up with a mighty collection of bruises,” Bilbo looked down at his lap and twiddled his thumbs together before nodding. Why did he feel like a reprimanded child? Oin hummed and drew a squat foot stool over to the chair that creaked when the dwarf settled himself on it. Bilbo waited only a short time before Oin sighed at him, “Well come on then, let me see them. We’ll take a look and put some balm on ‘em to ease the aches… And then we’ll see what we can do about that persistent cold of yours.”

 

Bilbo felt uneasy at the idea of undressing in a room he had no idea of. Were there sleeping men here as well, breathing too softly for him to hear? Where was Thorin? His anxiety must have shown on his face because Oin’s voice supplied for him that they had some privacy for a while, Thorin was still there but had sat at one of the tall tables to scrape together an early breakfast. Bilbo listened and could hear plates being shuffled, scraped and emptied. He pushed his coat away from his shoulders and shrugged out of it while listening to those sounds.

 

The outer garment pooled behind him and he lifted the hem of his blouse from the waist of his trousers, before undoing what few buttons still remained. Oin made a sound as a swath of skin was exposed and Bilbo tried not to feel exposed. He didn’t want to act like some spring maiden undressing before a crowd of interested males. That wasn’t what this was. Oin was a healer; this was meant specifically to be a checkup and nothing more. He wasn’t being put on display.

 

He jerked when Oin barely touched his arm and gave him a sheepish look, “Sorry.”

 

“I forgot, it was my mistake,” Oin grumbled, and then tried again, this time knowing that Bilbo expected the touch, “It isn’t normal for us to see someone staring right at us and not see anything. Even with how blind us dwarves get as we age. Usually there’s a sign or two on the face but you just look like you’re staring right off into the distance.” Bilbo shuddered as Oin’s callouses caught on his skin and tried not to fidget too much.

 

“Hobbits rarely get sick,” He admitted. His lips pursed when Oin checked a fresh bruise and he tried not to jerk away from it. “We have plenty of green things in the shire to keep us healthy and grounded. We get weary through the winter but you will hardly ever hear anything about blindness or sickness outside of wasting illnesses.” He was trying to fill the silence which seemed unbearably loud now that all he had was touch, hearing, and taste to aid him. And barely if any taste at that. He detested colds.

 

“So you need your green things to keep you healthy? Is it a tea or a soup that we could make here?” Oin spoke and held firm the next time he surprised Bilbo with his touch. The hobbit swallowed and turned his head so Oin could get a clear look at his neck and collarbones in the dim lighting. Did he mention how sensitive his skin felt? He just hoped that his blushing wasn’t too obvious to the dwarf.

 

“Oh, no it isn’t anything like that really.” Oin muttered for him to stand up and turn around, prodding at his ribs. It elicited a sharp painful sound from the hobbit who immediately stepped away from him out of reflex. He caught himself when his thighs hit the chair he had been warming. “Plants help as stews and teas and snacks, much like it would help a man or maybe even a dwarf,” Oin snorted at his comment and Bilbo righted himself. “But it is the little living things that help, I think. Having them nearby and thriving, getting to witness as they age and become strong, as they bear their fruits and flowers.”

 

Bilbo smiled to himself as he thought back on Hobbiton and his little flower bushes around the front door, the garden he had cultivated with just a little help from his gardener Hamfast. The thought of Hobbiton’s warm rays of sun bringing the plants strength, and in turn sharing that strength with him. “Hobbits are creatures of Yavanna, you know. At least that is what we have come to believe. Dwarves are the kin of Mahal, are they not?” The dwarvish word used for their god rolled strangely from his tongue and Oin chuckled behind him as he pinched at Bilbo’s spine.

 

“Aye, that we are. The great maker of our kind,” Bilbo hummed and squirmed as Oin pressed on his sides. A faint giggle escaped him and his ears twisted up at the brief shock of enjoyment.

 

“Mahal in my tongue is Alue,” Bilbo clarified, the name ran like silk between his lips and he tried not to take too much pleasure in speaking so plainly again, “Though there are other names for him. He was the husband of Yavanna, so you can imagine why I find it amusing that dwarves care very little for green things and the skills it takes to raise them from seedlings into fruitful and blossoming beings. Eru had to go so far as to create the Ents to keep dwarves from destroying her forests and fields.

 

“Did you know that the menfolk would call us fairies?” Bilbo chuffed out a laugh. Oin must have found it humorous as well for the deep timbre of a chuckle. “We’re nothing like the elves, you know! Hobbits could only hope to live for as long as elves- or even really for as long as dwarves. To experience so many years of prosper and contentment- we’re quite envious of you all. But perhaps it is better for us to have lives only a few decades longer than those of men. Too much contentment can spoil you and breed greed. Nasty thing greed is. Coppery and cloudy and dark. It is a very hard thing to wash off.”

 

Oin dropped his hands into his lap and heaved a sigh that caused Bilbo to turn and raise his eyebrows in question. “You’re handling the pain pretty well but I’ll find a balm for you anyway. We’ll make another tea for you to drink for that cold of yours but I don’t think we’ll find any plants for you to coddle like a babe,” Bilbo narrowed his eyes and huffed. To be honest Oin wasn’t too far off of the mark though. Plenty of hobbits took to maintaining nurseries in the shire- and not for the wee faunts of their families but for the small plants they wanted to keep and raise.

 

“I’ll be fine. It’ll pass and eventually I may find something to raise my health.” He wouldn’t mourn the lack of greenery for too long. Perhaps they would be able to find something- even just a sprig of ivy clinging to the mountain on their path. He could draw some strength from that thought alone and if not well, Beorn’s house was only on the other side of Mirkwood and once they reclaim Thorin’s throne he would happily revisit their bear friend.

 

Oin left him there to wrap his now cold coat around himself and Bilbo climbed back into the plush seat he had been trying to heat earlier. No point in dressing fully again with Oin promising some ointment or balm to rub all over him. However the scrape of heavy boots drew his attention away from arranging his coats to the king he had nearly forgotten was still in the room.

 

Thorin stepped close and Bilbo swallowed, looking at where the noise had stopped, in the hopes of conveying he was aware the dwarf was there. A band of warmth enveloped him again, only starting as the press of heat into the shoulder of his coat before creeping around to pull Bilbo into Thorin’s fur coat. The hobbit’s toes curled and he nuzzled into it gratefully, drawing the fabric up into his face and cupping it up over his ears. The cloak unfurled into his lap and over his shins, leaving only the tips of his toes visible at the bottom. Thorin chuckled at him and Bilbo felt his familiar paw come to rest against the side of his head.

 

“No wonder you’re not bothered by the cold,” Bilbo muttered. He leaned forward to let the sides of his new, warm blanket tuck into his ribs and his back. His face tilted into Thorin’s touch and he hoped he wasn’t being too forward even if their leader had been the one to initiate it. “Dwarves must naturally burn as hot as their forges if even this layer of fur can be kept so warm.”

 

Thorin settled himself on the edge of Bilbo’s seat and used his other hand to cover the hobbit’s toes. He wished he could look at Thorin’s brilliant colors and see how he was feeling in that moment, if he enjoyed the close company as much as the hobbit did. “You need your gardens to keep you healthy,” His voice rumbled lowly and Bilbo was pulled back to that first night when Thorin smoked by his mantle. “And yet you joined us on this quest to reclaim not a mountain, but a stone that you will never be able to see in the way that others see it. Tell me, master burglar, are you a fool or are you too brave for your own good?”

 

Bilbo hummed in false thought and stretched his hand out from under the coat to cradle the back of Thorin’s against his jaw. “Perhaps I am both. A fool for not explaining things I thought were obvious and shared, but brave for abandoning something that I can easily return to in order to pickpocket a dragon and return to you the clear right to rule your people. Perhaps I am even a fool just for letting my affection grow for a king who wanted nothing to do with a weak, bothersome grocer, who’s only talent was making a decent bowl of onion soup and bread.”

 

Thorin’s thumb flexed against his cheek and Bilbo pressed into it, closing his eyes and reveling in the touch for as long as it was given to him. “No, I am the fool who looked down on someone willing to risk their life for dwarves that they hardly knew. I placed blame and doubt upon you when every action you made was to keep my people safe and whole- even when it came to a king who has no business spitting in the face of one who offered their help in his time of need.” His voice as one of the most pleasant and peaceful lullabies Bilbo had experienced in the many years of his life, despite his words.

 

“Once our quest has come to an end we will find you a garden, my hobbit, so that you might prosper in this dragon plagued land. I would very much like to see you returned to your shining brightness and hear you speak of color and scent once again.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A bit shorter this time, but I believe our hobbit and dwarf needed a little time to cuddle, don't you agree? Besides, its always fun to put in a little filler chapter before we get to the fun parts! I hope this tickles your fancy, readers! I'll try to write a decent chapter for the next one. (:


	3. Bitter

The town cheered so loudly that Bilbo could barely even hear himself think. They were piling into a single boat with a handful of crates and some iron weapons pulled together from the town armory. The noise set him on edge. The heavy, leather armor draped over him and the helmet that by no means fit him didn’t help matters either. He felt like he would fall over. He felt like he was drowning.

 

It must have shown on his face because Kili and Fili were quick to squish him into either side of them, an arm over his shoulder and one around his back as they trounced around happily on the walkways. It helped. It helped a lot. “Kili will be staying here,” Bilbo's attention snapped forward to try and find Thorin in the greyness of his vision but not even the rainbow of colors that made up the king could claw its way out of his sightlessness.

 

“Uncle, what are you saying?” Kili’s voice had the hint of a nervous laugh coloring it and Bilbo found himself twisting one hand around to grip tightly at the young prince’s coat. It was coarse and thick and grounding in a way he needed it to be right now. The idea of leaving someone behind on the quest didn't sit well with him in any way and the fact that Kili would no doubt be heartbroken only spurred him to hold tighter.

 

“You’re injured, it won’t do you any good to be with us and you’ll only slow us down.” The hobbit frowned and stayed where he was, held between two brothers on the edge of the docks. He didn’t like the tone that Thorin had used. Maybe it was a dwarvish way to show his concern but it certainly didn’t sound that way to him. It was dismissive and Bilbo could hear Thorin asking Kili if he really thought he would be leaving Lake Town.

 

“Then perhaps I should stay as well,” He said. Kili’s arm tightened around his shoulders and Fili’s fingers tangled into the cloak that drug behind him.

 

“No, you’re the burglar, you’re the key to this part of the quest.” Bilbo shook his head and stayed where he was even when he heard Thorin step back up onto the walkway. It wasn’t fair to leave Kili behind when Bilbo was even more of a hassle to bring along. He was _blind_ for Yavanna’s sake! You couldn’t be more useless on a quest where you need to _see what you’re stealing_!

 

“Thorin, I can’t see anything. I can’t see you, I can’t see the crowd of menfolk behind us, I can’t even see how big the gap between the dock and the boat is- how do you expect me to be able to climb a mountain and not be a hindrance to the company the way I am?” Bilbo heard boots shuffle in the boat and quiet muttering of agreement and worry from the company that was there.

 

“We will guide you. Oin will find a way to cure your illness while we get to the door.” Bilbo shook his head again and sighed at the stubborn dwarf. Two could play this game and he refused to be bested on the matter.

 

“Bring him with us, Thorin. You are being a hypocrite. Oin can treat him just as easily as he can treat me and you’ll already be moving slowly because of my shortcomings. Every reason you give him for being left behind is a reason I should stay as well. And if you separate him from your only healer, how do you expect him to get better? Do you honestly think this fishing village is going to take care of him for you while you’re off looking for a dragon? They’d sooner push him into the lake and say he fell in from weakness.” Bilbo would not take no for an answer on this. Either they both stayed, or they both went.

 

Balin cleared his throat and Bilbo listened as he thumped Thorin on the shoulder, “Might as well give in to him. He isn’t going to back down and we’re losing precious daylight. Tomorrow is Durin’s Day and we’ll be lucky to reach the mountain by the afternoon at this rate. Either tell them both to stay or let them onto the boat.”

 

The king gave in and let them all climb on board, Bofur even managed to make it at the very last second- and I mean the last second! Bilbo thought he would capsize the boat from the force he used to jump into it and had clung to the nearest dwarf for safety. Bifur chuckled at him and pet his head soothingly, saying something in Khuzdul that he assumed translated into ‘there, there’.

 

Once the boat was stable and they had drifted far enough away, Bilbo stripped off the copious amounts of leather and the helmet that had sunk down past his ears. He tried to shrug off the cloak but someone pulled it back up and fastened the metal clasp around his neck, “Best keep that on you, Bilbo. It’s too damp and cold for you to go running around in your short trousers without anything to keep you warm.” Bofur’s voice was pleasant and warm and Bilbo felt well taken care of if a little embarrassed. The dwarf pulled his collar up higher around his neck and Bilbo sank down into it, realizing how cold his face felt.

 

“Ah, thank you. I hadn’t realized.” He pushed his hands together and rubbed them to try and keep warm after the rush of cool air. It reminded him of the cold Winters in the shire, not quite inhospitable but definitely frozen enough to make moving a hassle. The snow would pile up past his knees most years- even going so far as to touch his hips in some places. Going to the market on those days was nearly impossible! It must not snow even more in the north if their Autumns were already so cold. He hoped he would be able to find warmth in the halls of Erebor once it was rebuilt.

 

Bofur's sigh drew him out of his reminiscing and Bilbo listened as he shuffled around for a moment. He nearly jumped clean out of his skin when the dwarf took his hands into his own and tried not to jerk back from him when he turned one over and started putting something around it. “Calm down, I’m letting you borrow my mittens,” Bilbo’s ears tinged pink and he bit the inside of his cheek in embarrassment.

 

“You really don’t have to,” Bilbo tried to say. His voice was nervous but Bofur scoffed at him.

 

“I really do. You’re much smaller than the rest of us and Thorin would feed us to the dragon if he saw us neglecting you when you’re sick. He’s still glowering at me from over your shoulder. Guess I’ve touched you for too long. Hard one to please, he is,” Bilbo flexed his fingers once Bofur finished dressing his hands and smiled a little. The gloves were warm and surprisingly soft. They didn’t go any further than his knuckles but that might be for the best since Bofur’s hands were much larger than his own. They were loose fitting but Bilbo found himself appreciating the warmth anyway.

 

“I’ll keep them safe for you until you need them again then,” He smiled up at the dwarf, or at least he hoped he was smiling at him, and not at some distant cloud. Bofur chuckled and squeezed his shoulders before stepping away and settling back into his seat near the front to help row.

 

The hobbit pulled his hands back into his cloak and dropped himself onto a crate that he felt out for with one of his feet. It thankfully had a lid and he didn’t fall into whatever rations had been stuffed inside it. He still felt unsettled by his surroundings, trying to pull forth some kind of image of the watery world they were floating on now. Small waves lapped at the edges of their packed vessel, and the occasional rock would scrape the bottom of their boat. He wondered if they were nearing the shore, but after a few more minutes of rowing they were still there, tucked into the boat.

 

Thorin joined him after a time; hobbit and dwarf shared the edge of Bilbo's crate and Bilbo subconsciously leaned into the warm presence of their leader. He felt tired despite the full night of rest he had gotten, and some part of him thought that now would be a good chance to sleep. What did they need him for anyway? The others were plenty strong enough to row for a few hours each and Bilbo certainly couldn’t navigate them in any sense. “Why have you accepted his gift?”

 

Thorin's question drew him back from the hazy edges of sleep and Bilbo hummed questioningly as he blinked his eyes open. He sat up a little straighter as he recognized Thorin’s tone and tried to figure out what he might have done to upset the dwarf. His hands slipped out of the folds of his cloak again and he twisted them in front of himself as though he could admire the gloves. He couldn’t. Everything was still depressingly grey, “They’re a loan. He noticed that I was cold is all. Once we reach shore and can start a fire I think I’ll be able to give them back.”

 

Thorin’s paw of a hand cupped over one of his own and Bilbo smiled to himself as he felt the king’s calloused fingers trying to rub warmth into him. It was nice, really. These soft touches being shared between them. He hadn’t expected them to touch very much in the presence of others but maybe dwarves weren’t as stingy with public affection as he thought they would be. “Does it mean something to dwarves if one accepts a friendly gesture?”

 

The hand against his stilled and after a second started moving again. “It means something if one accepts a gift from a suitor. Giving another a piece of their clothing often means an intention to court,” Bilbo felt his cheeks turning pink at that idea.

 

“Well if that were the case then he’s been courting me since the start of the journey, and you haven’t shown the slightest interest despite yesterday afternoon.” He squeezed Thorin’s hand and wrapped the other around the top of it, thoroughly covering it with his paler, softer palms. The dwarf was warm even out here on the misty surface of the long lake, and Bilbo selfishly thought about asking to borrow his fur again.

 

“I intended to remedy that soon enough,” Thorin grumbled, letting Bilbo trace his knuckles and the lines of his palms in slow spiraling circles. Bilbo wanted to see if Thorin turned lavender and peach at his touch. He wanted to see the deep blue that clung to him and the cracks of light grey that marked him out as a dwarf.

 

“Then I’ll have to try and show you how hobbits court, once I can see clearly again at least. Wouldn’t want to give you one thing when I think it might be something else. I’ll have to wait until we have access to some items before I can make anything though. Most of our gifts are homemade and take some time to make at that.” Bilbo remembered the handsome red scarf his mother had made for his father and wondered if he made something like that for Thorin if the king would wear it. He’d have to look more closely at what Thorin liked before he tried to make some kind of accessory. Of course, he immediately felt silly for thinking about it. Thorin wouldn't want a scarf and Bilbo could barely knit as it is.

 

“It will be interesting to see if there are similarities among our people.” The hand he was tracing folded in on itself and Bilbo's lips tipped into a small smile as his hand was captured in the other's.

 

“I agree. I just hope we won’t offend each other too much before we can sort it all out,” He laughed and Bilbo thought he could feel Thorin chuckling beside him.

 

~~~

 

The crackle of a fire had never seemed so loud to him than it had today. He curled his hands around the cup of tea Oin had pushed his way and blew over the surface to try and cool it. It was a silly thing to do, of course, a little puff of air wouldn’t cool his medicine but it was a habit. Bombur hummed a jolly tune across the fire and stirred their stew as he added more of their vegetables to it. Oin had mentioned it would do Bilbo good and now Bilbo was worried it would be more vegetable than soup. It was bound to be delicious, however.

 

He could hear the healer fussing over Kili’s leg wound and wondered if he had made the right call by bringing the young prince with them. As soon as they made it to land Kili had developed a fever and could barely stand up. Bilbo had been able to catch most of his weight, if only because the poor hobbit had been in front of him when he sagged from fatigue and exhaustion. For the shortest moment, it felt like Bilbo could see again, and the images of a nearly snuffed out dwarf lingered behind his eyelids and taunted him.

 

“You look like you’ve seen a warg pup run off with one of your prized chickens,” Bilbo jumped and nearly spilled his tea when Fili spoke. He clutched his cup tightly and turned his head toward the oldest prince with a huff. How is it no one seemed to remember he was blind? The chuckle at his side told him that Fili knew what he was doing and had scared him on purpose.

 

Bilbo narrowed his eyes at him and curled around his drink again, sipping tentatively at it and wrinkling his nose at the bitter taste of it. “I don’t raise chickens, Fili.” He sipped again and the flavor was a little more bearable this time. It warmed him on the inside and he inhaled again, breathing in the steam. “I’m worried I might have pushed too hard to bring Kili with us. I think I was able to see him for a moment and he didn’t look well at all,” He frowned against the rim of his cup and tried to ignore the dark hues that draped themselves over Kili’s body.

 

“He would have been crushed if he wasn’t allowed to go. You’ve done him a service, really you have. You said you could see him though, that must mean you’re getting your nose back. You should be celebrating instead of huddling up by the fire and staring off into it. That’s bad for your eyes you know.” Fili settled back onto his hands and Bilbo listened to him dig his fingers into the soft silt-like sand under them.

 

“I haven’t been able to see anything else since then. It could have been my imagination. He looked like he had been poisoned, all dark and black with so little color showing through. I honestly think I might have cursed him instead of saving him. At least he has Oin here to help take care of him, someone who knows a dwarvish body.” Bilbo tried not to fidget but found his thumbs smoothing over the light ridges of the cup. He blinked and subtly tried to breathe through his nose. It was a little easier, but he wasn’t sure he was ready to face Kili again if it started working soon.

 

“Don’t worry about him. He’s too stubborn to die from some arrow wound. I’d say it’s just a reaction from the river and the lake. Dampened his fires is all.”

 

“I truly hope so. I don’t know if I’ll be able to forgive myself if he dies from it.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> It's surprisingly difficult to write chapters without sight or smell! I know this was shorter than the other two and that we're still not fully at the mountain but I hope you still enjoyed it for the time being!


	4. Brimstone

Morning came with a thunderous headache and screaming. Loud, throat tearing screaming that Bilbo was sure could wake the dead even as far back as Mirkwood. He sat bolt upright and looked around, hands frantically reaching for the small blade that had been tied to his hip ever since the troll hoard. He didn’t need it- they weren’t being attacked, even if it sounded like someone was being tortured endlessly.

 

Kili thrashed against the stony shore and dwarves struggled to hold him down as Oin and Thorin growled at each other in their language. Bilbo really wished he could understand it at some point, but right now it was obvious he shouldn’t be jealous of some language barrier. Kili was supposed to be his main focus. He scrambled over and knelt down near his head, touching his face and trying to calm him. It didn’t work. It likely wouldn’t work at all.

 

Bilbo looked for their healer again and moved toward him instead, “What’s going on? I thought he was getting better!” He wrung his hands and realized in that instant that he could see again. Everything was still muggy but he could _see_.

 

“I’m afraid that was just the calm before the storm laddie. I need to find something to treat his poisoning before we move or he isn’t going to make it to the foot of the mountain,” Oin’s voice was gruff as usual but all Bilbo could hear was the word poison. Anything else in that moment didn’t matter. He swallowed and looked back at Kili who was screaming murder. It was upsetting to see all of his colors drained from him other than sickness, pain, and terror. It made Bilbo’s stomach churn threateningly.

 

“Tell me what I can do. If you need herbs I can help find them,” Thorin’s hands gripped his own and stopped his constant fidgeting. He was a strong, solid anchor and Bilbo wondered how he had been holding himself together before their brief moment of confession in Lake Town.

 

“You will stay here and I will look for what Oin needs. How do you expect to find anything if you cannot see it?” Bilbo would have laughed at the irony if he weren’t filled with dread. He should have agreed and told Kili to stay in the town.

 

“I’m able to see, not perfectly, but well enough to be able to tell you that Kili needs more than just one worried uncle looking for herbs he likely doesn’t know how to identify,” He didn’t actually know how well versed Thorin was in plants. Considering the dwarf king had called his head of lettuce a ball of cabbage he figured he had pretty decent history to play off of.

 

Thorin’s hands squeezed and the hobbit glanced up at him. He watched a shy shade of silver creep through the array of muted color that tangled and wound through the hairs of his beard. It quickly dissolved as Kili yelled out in agony again, “You will have an escort.”

 

“Now hold on a minute,” Oin butted in. Bilbo turned toward him and frowned in confusion as the dwarf looked between the two of them, “Who is to say that you can identify the herbs I need in your condition?”

 

Bilbo pressed his thumbs into the backs of Thorin’s knuckles to steady himself. “We don’t have time to argue about this, master Oin. I’ve told you about our connection to greenery, you need to be able to trust that even in my state I will be able to tell the difference between a poisonous berry and a healing leaf. The difference is what shade of green it is, by the way. I won’t detail how each plant looks- I don’t think you would understand it even if I tried, but that’s just it. You need to let me try,” When did he breathe in that sentence? His lungs burned for air and he took a wavering breath as Oin stood stock still to his side.

 

“We need any help we can get,” Thorin spoke in a tone that left little room for argument. Even now he was supporting the hobbit for his decisions despite the peril he had put Kili in.

 

“Finding something living will help my own ailments,” Bilbo knew that the whole ‘two birds, one stone’ phrase was even more effective for the healer. He wanted to believe that he could help Kili in some way. He didn’t mention that uprooting the plant would make him feel awful, but it was a half-truth he was willing to sacrifice.

 

“Fine, fine! Search the shores then. We need Kingsfoil and something to bring the fever down.” Oin brushed past to help restrain Kili and Bilbo swallowed as he watched the way the youngest prince thrashed.

 

“Catnip, Yarrow, Ginger Root,” Bilbo wished they still had chamomile but such a luxury would be hard to come by here on the edge of a cold lake at the start of Autumn.

 

“Catnip?” Bilbo hummed in agreement and grimaced as Kili kneed Fili hard in the thigh.

 

“It’s a mint, it grows anywhere and everywhere, almost all year round. I used to have the hardest time keeping the stray toms out of it, had to give up and uproot it. Always felt off balance after that until Hamfast suggested tomato plants.” Bilbo glanced up at Thorin’s face and smiled briefly, “You should stay here with Kili in case he comes to. He’ll think you’ve abandoned him otherwise.”

 

Thorin’s fingers had threaded between his and when Bilbo tried to step away, Thorin drew him back in. He wanted to stay there, enjoying the simplest touch and just basking in the fact that he could see, even just a little. The king frowned at him and a whirlwind of color flew past him with each breath. Bilbo was mesmerized by it, “I will go with you. He won’t think he has been abandoned, he is surrounded by the rest of the company.”

 

“The way you spoke moments ago suggested that I would be going with a different escort,” Bilbo touched Thorin’s knuckles with the tips of his fingers and flinched as Kili bellowed. He didn’t have time to fight over semantics. His nose led him to the edge of the lake where his toes buried in fine sand and small pebbles. Green was hard to come by here.

 

“You must not be able to see well if you think you will find plants in the lake,” Bilbo rolled his eyes at Thorin and pulled him further along. The king had yet to release his hand and the hobbit wanted to use it as an excuse to touch, and to lead, and to be led.

 

“The smell of the lake will clear my pallet so I can see better.”

 

“Tell me what we are looking for and I will try to use my own eyes,” Thorin lengthened his stride to walk beside him and Bilbo felt grateful just to be beside him. Having seen Kili the way he was now only twisted him up inside and oh if only Thorin and the others could see him now. He was sure he was a disgusting mauve of stress and self-loathing.

 

He took a slow calming breath and thought about the shape of the plants they needed to find. Thorin was patient and walked them further and further away from the muddy sand of the lake and onto the smoothed rocks that skirted it. “A skinny plant that grows up to your knees, with thin, soft, barbed arrowhead leaves and tall clusters of tiny flowers. Kingsfoil is a kind of weed, it grows in thick clusters on the ground with tiny flowers and small pointed leaves. I hate that I can’t just tell you colors, I don’t know if you see them the way I do, I don’t want to say purple and you see red, I don’t want you to think I am trying to kill your nephews.”

 

There were lips against his knuckles and Bilbo blushed brightly at the sudden contact. It reminded him of yesterday. It reminded him of the soft pleasant feeling that had colored its way through him and he felt guilty for enjoying it so much, “Calm yourself, Burglar,” Thorin turned his hand slightly and pressed his mouth to the knuckles of his pinky finger, “You have done far too much for me to accuse you of ill intentions.”

 

And just like that, the guilt left him. Thorin didn’t think that it was his fault that his nephew was practically dying on the doorstep to Erebor. Thorin didn’t blame him for any of the actions that had taken place since lake town. “I hope that one day, when you are struggling like I have struggled today, that I will be able to provide this same level of comfort and more when you need it,” He breathed. His king smiled against his hand and dropped their locked fingers back down between them.

 

They hastened their pace and with proper guidance, Thorin was able to find Kingsfoil, and Bilbo could smell the wintery fresh scent of catnip hinted with pepper and wet soil. They returned in time for Thorin to meet Tauriel and Legolas on the edges of the long lake. The female elf ignored all of Thorin’s threats and questions to save Kili, and the elven prince kept him at bay when Thorin actually took a swipe at her. Thorin hated elves. Elves, however, saved his nephew, and Bilbo tried to convince him that while they were there, they could trust them. He didn’t see any signs that they meant to harm and the king just barely took his word for it.

 

~~~

 

They had no choice but to leave Kili there with Oin and Fili and the two elves. Bofur offered to stay to help guard, but he was quickly pulled into the traveling group and that was the end of the argument. He kept Bilbo company while Thorin headed the group, leading them forward, over the ridges of the mountain where Dale lay dormant and dull, lifeless. The wind cried as it passed through the empty streets and Bilbo found himself stepping closer to his dwarves.

 

Gandalf was supposed to meet them here, but there wasn’t even the faintest whisper of his scent even close to where they were. Bilbo’s stomach twisted anxiously again, but they pressed on into the shadows of the mountains. Despite it being Autumn, the mountain was mostly barren. A few small, hardy plants clung to the sharp rocks, but there wasn’t even a speck of wild vegetables, or a humble bush to be found. It felt dead here, and Bilbo was beginning to worry that he wouldn’t be able to survive the mountain or the rough winter that would soon follow.

 

The dwarves were giving up when the sun faded behind the horizon. Something urged him to keep looking, even when Thorin dropped his key and turned, defeated, to leave his home. No, Bilbo had fought too long and too hard to give up just yet! The hobbit paced in front of the wall and muttered the riddle to himself a few times as the warm scent of the sun dissipated, “The last light of Durin’s Day,” Bilbo raised his hand to his face and rubbed his cheek as he sighed.

 

It dawned on him just as the moon peered through a swath of clouds overhead, “Moonlight,” he whipped around to face the wall and sure enough, the subtle scent of magic seeped through the cold stone. It painted a beautiful swath of cornflower blue onto the stone, illuminating a rectangular door, banded three times in dwarvish patterns and etched with moon runes. It was stunning to look at and Bilbo wondered if his dwarves could weave this kind of magic as well.

 

“I’ve found it!” He called, stepping toward the dangerous edge of the platform. No one was there, no one followed the hidden steps to the secret door, and no one peered back at him from around the edge of the mighty statue they had scaled. Bilbo scrambled to find the key that Thorin had dropped, and scraped his palms as he found it tipping precariously at the corner of the doorstep.

 

He rushed to place the key in the keyhole and then hesitated. Should he really open the mountain? Gandalf had made them swear not to enter without him, and yet despite all of that… His fingers tightened around the angular points of the key. They had only this chance to return the dwarves to Erebor. This was his only chance to give to Thorin what he desired most in this world.

 

Warmth crept over his back and he jumped as a hand slid down his arm, “You’ve done it,” Thorin’s voice sank into the hair above his ear and Bilbo shuddered as that hand trailed further down to cover his own. His hand twitched as Thorin tightened his hold, before turning the key. The magic flared on the outermost band and the stone broke open to reveal invisible seams.

 

Disbelieving and awestruck whispers broke out behind them but Bilbo could barely hear the others over the sound of his racing heartbeat. The dwarves could enter Erebor. Bilbo had been the one to give them that. Thorin stood so close to him that Bilbo could feel the toes of his boots against his ankles, the front of his torso grazed his shoulder blades. All he could say was, “The magic of dwarves is really quite beautiful, isn’t it? These runes are marvelous,” His shaking hands stretched up to touch them as the soft blue faded into dormancy.

 

“Runes? It is nothing more than a piece of stone,” Bilbo frowned and looked over his shoulder at Thorin. It was so much more than that. Could he not see it?

 

“Is that all that you see?” Bilbo traced one rune with a fingertip and shuddered as the magic there twisted invitingly over his hand, curving around his wrist in a cool whirl before sinking back into the stone. He pushed and the sound of stone grinding against stone filled his ears as the door gave way.

 

The runes disappeared fully once the door opened and Bilbo sighed as the dark hall was presented to him. “They’re gone now.” He took a short breath so that he could tell the others their goal had been found, only to be hit with a nauseating smell that clung to his lungs and festered. He gagged and bent over at the waist, his hands slapped over his mouth and nose to try and block the smell to no avail.

 

Faintly he could hear Thorin asking what was wrong as he rushed away from the door to the furthest edge of the doorstep to try and get away from the scent. It made his eyes water uncontrollably and his stomach flopped in a threatening way. He dry heaved into a stony corner and steadied himself against the wall. The world was spinning around him and dwarves circled him in concern. Someone had him by the shoulders, someone else was touching his arm.

 

Bilbo wavered and sagged as another waft of that dreadful scent perfumed the air. Someone caught him and lowered him to the ground, bracing him against the inside of their knee. He clung to their calf and closed his eyes in the hopes that it would stop the world from spinning out of control, “I think a warning would have been nice,” He groaned.

 

Rough hands pushed his hair away from his face and wiped at the streams of tears that kept pouring from his eyes, “Calm down, Bilbo. Tell us what’s going on. Are you feeling ill again?” Bofur’s voice was soothing and worried in a way that the hobbit didn’t think could be possible. Thorin gripped his shoulders firmly and told someone to give him water.

 

“I’m fine, really, I’ll be alright. I’ve just…. I’ve never smelt something like that before. It isn’t normal. I just need to catch my breath.” Bilbo waved them away but still, they hovered. Bofur pressed a cup of water into his hands and Bilbo took a few small sips to settle his stomach. It didn’t help as much as he hoped it would have.

 

“You won’t be going in there,” It was Dwalin, surprisingly who was putting his foot down. Bilbo looked around for him and found Dwalin standing over Thorin’s shoulder with his arms crossed in front of him. He made to argue but Dwalin spoke overtop of him, “You won’t be able to burgle something like that. If that beast is still alive in there you’ll wake it in an instant!”

 

Bilbo coughed and held back another round of heaving. Blooms of agreement sprouted from each and every dwarf around him as muttered affirmatives reached his ears, “I can do it, just… Let me get used to the smell. Just give me an hour, that’s all I need and then we’ll see what I can do. If I can stay inside that doorway for more than five minutes without fainting, I’m going to go inside. I signed a contract. I made a promise.”

 

“We will release you from your contract, Mister Baggins if this proves to be too dangerous for you to handle,” Balin was obviously forgetting that Bilbo knew he’d potentially have to face a dragon. It had been described in his own writing after all.

 

Bilbo smiled weakly at the scholar and shook his head, “I knew what I was getting myself into, Master Balin. You believed in some small way that I would be able to perform this job or you wouldn’t have agreed with Gandalf and given me the papers. Nothing has changed with me since you found out that we see differently. I am still a hobbit, I am still your burglar. Give me the chance to at least try, that is all I ask.”

 

Thorin’s hands on his shoulders tightened and Bilbo pressed one palm against his forearm. “Let me try. Give me an hour to get accustomed to the smell. The rest of you can plan what you intend to do next if I succeed.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry for the late chapter, I know I'm quite a bit behind! I haven't been feeling up to snuff recently and anything that I tried to write came out terribly. I hope that this suffices for now. Soon our little Hobbit will face the powerful dragon Smaug. Do you think he's ready?


	5. Bloom

The stone halls of Erebor were cold, silent, and stale. Faint whispers of the scent of dwarf would occasionally seep through the lingering, clinging scent he now knew was associated with dragons. The uncomfortably sweet smell of decay, the metallic tang of iron, the overwhelmingly sickening presence of sulfur- it mixed and filled the mountain to the brim. Bilbo dabbed the corners of his eyes again with his sleeve and stood there, alone, at the stone arch that would lead him further down and deeper inside the mountain.

 

He wished he could put a name to the rest of the scents that were still there, things he never came across before that painted the halls in bands of jade and milky yellows, deep dark reds that reminded him of dwarvish hues but were much, much more than that. They looked… Bigger, more imposing. A wafting of volcanic ash and decay nearly toppled him over as he made it to the last doorway to the treasure hoard. He pinched his eyes closed and pressed his face into the corner of the frame to try and regain his bearings.

 

There was no need to look, or even listen for the creature in his company. The renewing scent that plagued him was enough to tell him that Smaug was still here, he was alive, but somehow, in some way, he must have been sleeping. No sound came from the treasury, not even a quiet rain of coins from the dragon’s nest. Bilbo stood there, frozen as he thought over what he was supposed to do now. Does he go back and tell the dwarves that Smaug still lives? Does he try to find the Arkenstone? The hobbit cautiously peered through the doorway and felt his heart sink at the sight.

 

What might have been a beautiful room of glowing gold and glimmering gemstones, speckled with ancient weaponry and trunks of finely crafted items was instead a festering pit of dark and grotesque color. Copper colored his vision and swirled with the vapors of disease and pride that he could only hope came from Smaug and not from the dwarves that once tended to this room. Small hands gripped at the stones carved artfully and inlaid with gold as Bilbo thought about his tactics. No doubt he would wake the dragon if he went searching… If he didn’t, what would they do?

 

He thought about what kind of outcome they would have if his company of dwarves ran full force into the mountains of coin and wealth. Dragons were nearly impossible to kill, it was possible that his dwarves would die and after having been attacked Smaug would rampage. Bilbo couldn’t risk that. He tried to think of another outcome if he came out empty handed.

 

They could wait for Gandalf. Unfortunately, he knew that wouldn’t pan out either. Dwarves were notoriously stubborn and if Thorin couldn’t wait at the edges of Dale for their grey wizard to join them, he certainly wouldn’t wait for him there at the doorstep. Gandalf wasn’t an option at this point.

 

Could they send the elf prince back to request aid from his king? Thranduil would receive his white gemstones if Bilbo had it his way, but again Thorin made it impossible to deal with the elves of Mirkwood. Rivendell was too far, and the cities of men wouldn’t come to their aid without demanding something of Thorin in return.

 

It boiled down to him. A lone hobbit traipsing through the shadows of a dormant kingdom in search of a stone Balin had only briefly described to him. All color and size and nothing else to help the hobbit find his goal. Bilbo was their last chance at returning Thorin to his throne, at restoring Erebor to its once proper appearance, returning the dwarves to their home in the mountain. He swallowed and looked at the pile of gold anxiously, trying to find the safest place to start.

 

A bold, deep red layered in brilliant bands of yellows and ashen blacks seeped from one of the tallest mounds of gold. Bilbo would definitely be avoiding that particular mountain and all of the little hills around it too. He couldn’t even tell if Smaug was a gigantic thing in comparison of what he had once been, or if the vents of vapor that rose to the ceiling were playing tricks on him, but the great beast that tore down from the north was much larger than anything he had ever anticipated. He took a cautious step out of the corridor and onto the platform. His hands bundled into the material of his coat and he took a slow, quiet breath to steel himself. The Arkenstone; that was all he had to look for.

 

He hoped that it would be near the bottom and still on the surface, but his precursory glance around the room told him it would be more difficult than that. If it was on the surface and looked the same as everything around it… What was he to do? Take every large stone he found and hope that by some means he had found the king’s jewel? His toes touched cold metal and he shuddered as it ripped him out of his panicked thought. He was at the bottom of the pit- or what he assumed was the bottom.

 

It was dizzying to look forward at the masses of treasures placed before him and he took a step back toward the stairs in doubt. They were expecting him back within the hour- that was not enough time to search this whole hoard! He looked back toward the sleeping dragon and edged around the staircase before crouching down and placing his hands on the coins. They shifted under his touch and he bit his tongue as a shallow mound slipped over his fingertips. It felt terrible, being wrapped in the stench that came from those bits of gold and what few faceted gems were there. He wanted to snatch his hands away and run from the mountain, back to his companions outside.

 

Instead, he took another slow, shallow breath and shifted forward to pick up a huge chunk of stone to pass between his hands, but nothing stood out about it. This wasn’t the Arkenstone. He dropped it back down and kept moving, picking through the base of the treasury until an avalanche of gold rained down upon him. It curled around the other hills and he felt his heart jump into his throat as wisps of dragon stench followed after it, “Well, thief,” The voice echoed against the vaulted ceilings and rang in his ears. He jerked back and hid behind one of the square pillars nearest to him though he knew it wouldn’t do him any good. Smaug was awake. Bilbo had been caught. Out of habit, he reached for his inner pocket for his ring.

 

~~~

 

The Arkenstone had been found, by some miracle Bilbo had stumbled across it and had been chasing after it ever since Smaug started interrogating him and trying to sew despair into his heart. He hid it from the rest of the group. It was wrong, he knew it was, but that didn’t stop him from doing it. Smaug’s words had struck a chord inside of him and Bilbo couldn’t bring himself to give the stone to Thorin. Not until he knew for certain that it wouldn’t affect him the way that the dragon said it would. He didn’t want to be the thing that ended up undoing the king’s mind.

 

The first few days after the death of Smaug, Bilbo felt grief clinging to him. Thorin spent more and more time in the vaults, sifting gold and stone for his precious birthright, and yet here it was, tucked against Bilbo’s ribcage, reeking of dragon and glimmering in dark shades of silver and bitter blues. The hobbit stole away on more than one occasion to try and rinse the odor away, hoping that it was only surface deep, that Thorin wouldn’t fall into its trap. The burning, decayed scent of dragon lessened the longer Bilbo tended to it, but the tempting glimmer of madness lingered, tinged copper around the edges from its previous king.

 

Thorin lost more and more color the longer he stayed inside Erebor. His hands were stained from the gold, covering beautiful shades of grey and blue and the gentlest touches of peach. Long gone were the silver strands of relief and the beautiful tufts of lavender that would linger around his ears and his eyes. Whenever Bilbo was alone with Thorin he could get those colors to cautiously sneak out from the spreading copper. One night he even found ribbons of magenta coloring the air around his king. He almost gave in to the possessive passion that Thorin had shown him only twice but resisted.

 

Thankfully the princes weren’t as affected by the dragon hoard as their uncle was. In fact, after the first few hours of climbing the mountains in awe, their interests had gone instead to the grand carvings and metal grates of the city. Bilbo heard them whispering to each other about stories their mother would tell them. He wished that Thorin had been there with them to recall the good times he once had in those halls. Bilbo wanted to hear Thorin talk on end about the beauty of Erebor, how his forefathers had left their marks in the deepest chambers of the mountain, how his great-grandfather had carved a room filled with glowing, starlit crystals for his grandmother as their courtship gift. The room was hidden by a collapsed wall and pillars now, but Bilbo often found the two young dwarves there slowly chipping away at the rubble.

 

They had an excuse for it when Thorin demanded that they built up a wall to block the hole that Smaug had made at the front of the mountain. They never made it through to the other side. At least, not before Bard came riding in with a platoon of Elvish soldiers marching behind him. Lake Town requested assistance in rebuilding. They asked for the reward that Thorin had promised and… Thorin refused. Even under the threat of an army on his doorstep, Thorin chose the gold over the safety of his kin, the safety of his company.

 

Bilbo regretted his decision as soon as he had entered Thranduil’s tent the following night. Gandalf was there as his protector but the wizard was not present when Thorin lashed out at him on the ramparts. Shouts came from the rest of the company as he was dangled above the threateningly high drop, his hands holding shakily to the wrist of who he thought was once to be his long-awaited husband. Air wheezed between his teeth and through his nose, easy to pass from his lungs but harder to draw back in as fingers and nails pressed against his throat.

 

He felt Thorin’s fingers loosening when Gandalf shouted to return his burglar unharmed. He had nearly been thrown from the rubble-made-wall of Erebor for trying to save them all from war. Thorin was washed in waves of anger, betrayal, and greed to the point that Bilbo felt like he wasn’t even looking at the same dwarf anymore. Bofur had been the one to take him by the arm once he was safely back on the wall and rush him to go to Gandalf’s side. Kili and Fili were close behind, all three dwarves only stopping when Bilbo made it around the corner to the rope he had used last night.

 

And then Dain’s army had come. Neat rows of stocky bodies holding spear and shield and various other weapons of their choosing. They gleamed brightly on the dry grasses as they approached the side of Thranduil’s troops. Blocks of gold and silver faced one another tensely, and Bilbo clung to Gandalf’s side, unsure of what he was to do now. An obnoxiously loud dwarf with a red undertone and a prideful, snobbish crown of color rode forward on a large boar. He threw obscenities at the elves and offered an offhanded chance for them to surrender, tuck their tails, and return to Mirkwood.

 

Chaos broke out once the orcs entered the picture. A simple realization of ‘the enemy of my enemy is my ally’ dawned upon them, and unsure men, elves, and dwarves combined their forces to fight against the larger army lead by Azog. Bilbo kept looking toward the blocked gate of Erebor in the hopes that his brave company would vault over it and come protect their family and their allies. Only when it seemed that the dwarves would undoubtedly lose, did a giant bell break through the front barricade followed by yelling dwarves.

 

Long gone was the dragon-scented cloak that Thorin had donned in the mountain, replaced with simple clothes that had the same shapes he wore while traveling. Bilbo’s heart raced at the sight of it, watching as copper flaked away and was carried off by the rising wind of the battlefield. He wanted to stay and watch as Thorin bloomed again after having been hidden under layers of gold sickness, but Gandalf was pulling him along. A sword swiped at him and he narrowly avoided it as they wove themselves between warring opponents.

 

He was in Dale when word came to them of a hidden force coming from the North. Gundabad orcs and their warriors would pour from the dark places of the northern mountains, all to sandwich Thorin’s kin and end him. He barely had enough sense in him to hide before disappearing once more into the milky, dulled world that cast his vision into black, white, and muted hues of scent. Unseen and unfelt winds stirred and blended the visions that plagued him, but onward he ran, hoping he would be able to catch up to the war rams that had climbed Raven Hill only moments prior.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Well, this was mostly a recap, but I had to be a little speedy in writing it up. I realized I was already a day late, and I won't be back online until the 1st, after these next few days. I feel like I could have been a little more poetic with this, but I hope you all still enjoyed it in some small way!
> 
> I'll do my best to write a longer chapter once I've returned. (:


	6. Debt

The abandoned corridors of Raven Hill were musty and lifeless. They left him with the sensation of being watched, despite being alone in the halls he was trotting down. He could smell the others faintly and it unsettled him. The fresh trails of death, destruction, and orc wafted up from the cobbled floor and the cracked stone walls as he hurried around another corner. He was anxious to find his dwarves and right now he was hunting one in particular- Fili. The hints of his scent clung to the corners of corridors and tracked pools of pale gold again dark, frozen stone. Kili’s scent had doubled back on them and moved further away from the alarmingly stronger and stronger scent of orc and right now Dwalin was likely pulling him back to his uncle’s side.

 

“I’m going to shave him bald if I get ahold of him,” Bilbo grumbled, despite knowing he would never do something like that to the prince. He was more frustrated that he thought they could take on whatever monstrosity awaited them in the towers instead of following Thorin’s orders. This was the troll camp all over again!

 

His pace slowed as Fili’s scent grew sharper ahead of him, punctuated by anxiety, uncertainty, and anger. Bilbo furrowed his brows and peered around the corner only to find Fili crouched at the other end of the hall, doing the same with his back turned toward him. He would have sighed with relief if he thought he had time for it. Shadows flickered against the far wall, shapes of wargs and orcs dancing with the shudder of the flame they had lit.

 

The hobbit was quick to pad up to Fili’s back and take his shoulder, knowing he would scare the dwarf. He was immediately pinned to the wall with a drawn knife poised to pierce his throat as the prince snarled at him. They stayed like that for who knew how long before Fili jerked his hand back and made to apologize. Bilbo’s hand covered his mouth as the other pointed out the shadows before he turned the prince and pushed him to go the way they had come.

 

Fili looked ready to argue and turn back but Bilbo’s expression darkened and he shoved him again, pointing sternly forward. He was not going to let the blonde rush into his death not even knowing how many opponents he had. They had more important things to worry about as it was! A low rumbling growl reverberated through the room behind them and sent a shudder down his spine. Did he mention that he hated wargs at any point in this journey?

 

They crept down the hall slowly, checking behind them frequently until they made it to the steps that led out to the frozen platform. Bilbo released a breath he felt like he had been holding ever since he found Fili, and the prince frowned at him like he had denied the dwarf a chance at glory, “Don’t look at me like that. Thorin told you not to engage.”

 

“I could have ended this war with one strike had he not been across the room!” Fili’s voice growled, low and irritated. Bilbo could see the unsure waver to his hues and stretched a hand out to press to the blonde’s shoulder.

 

He shook his head, “You could have just as easily been dangled over the side of this tower as leverage for your uncle to surrender. And he would have surrendered, Fili. His kin means much more to him than a crown ever would have, and he would sacrifice himself if it meant keeping you two safe, keeping any of you safe.” He pulled on the thick cloth of his shirt so they would start back toward the iced-over falls. “Go to him, before he charges into the building and kills himself without reason.”

 

“Come with me,” Fili spoke in a surprising softness, his broad hand coming to rest at the nape of Bilbo’s neck where he pressed his fingers briefly, “He has broken through the fever- he isn’t as he once was, Bilbo. Come stand with us and fight, protect him as you have protected him this whole journey.”

 

A small melancholy smile touched his face as Bilbo pat Fili’s chest lightly, “You lot need to descend from Raven Hill. There are more enemies following the frozen river to where your kin stand. Trolls, orcs, wargs and other ghastly beasts will come here. Face them with more allies at your back.” He knew he wouldn’t be welcome where Thorin stood after all that he had done. Even if Thorin was cured of his sickness, Bilbo had dealt him a massive wound that he would clearly feel even in his unclouded state.

 

“Bilbo-” The sharp bellow of a horn cut Fili off and they turned back to the building that slowly lit with the flame from torches. Blackspeak poured from the air above, and Bilbo recognized it as Azog’s gnarled tone.

 

“Quickly, to the others!” He pushed Fili then, shoved him forward onto the ice into the flurry of the storm and after a moment of hesitation, followed after his fading trail.

 

~~~

 

Somehow the battle had been won; not without loss on any side. His three precious Durins had been struck down during battle, now forced to remain in healing tents as dwarf, elf, and man prodded at their wounds. Bilbo should be more thankful that they were all alive, that Fili had only suffered a broken leg, ribs, and lost just one finger to the battle. That he had only a few deep wounds over his limbs and a sickening bruise across his face. He should be glad that Kili’s wounds were meager in comparison because his brother had protected him so fiercely. It still unsettled him to see the slice across the bridge of his nose, the one that came so close to cleaving his skull in half, but only left him with a band of twenty stitches over his cheeks and nose.

 

He should not feel guilty for the heavy wounds that Thorin had received from Azog. The metallic scented gauze that stretched down his torso from his right shoulder to his fur-dusted belly covered wounds that would have so easily taken him from this plane. Somehow he had been stabbed through the foot at one point as well, but Oin was a wonderful healer and kept the infection at bay while the king slept in his dreamless slumber on the modest cot they had built for him. Bilbo tried lessening his guilt by cleaning his skin and hair whenever he was able. He did it for the princes as well, carefully combing out their hair, rinsing them of blood and dried patches of dirt.

 

He was no master at braiding hair, but he tried to keep them presentable, and Dwalin took mercy on him when it came to Fili’s mustache, twisting the coils of long blonde hairs for him while the older prince slept. The old warrior had fared better than his royal wards, but only just. He walked with a heavy limp and was constantly found sitting where he would normally stand, but Bilbo had faith that Balin talked him into treatments for his wounds.

 

Between the brief moments of sleep he managed to get, his care for the three sleeping dwarves, and his negotiations with Bard, Bilbo could be found in the treasury where few others were allowed entry. He collected small trunks of gold, of gems that only had value to merchants and brought them out with him to have Balin and Gloin count them out. He claimed them as his fourteenth share, and they agreed. However, as soon as he came from the mountain the chests would leave him and go to Bard who carried them with a reverence that Bilbo shouldn’t be privy to.

 

“Thank you for this, Master Hobbit.”

 

“Your people deserve this more than I do, Bard. Please, accept it and allow your bad blood with my company wash away.” Bilbo offered him a faint smile and felt his eyes drift to the pitched tents of the elves near the lake, “Lord Thranduil has stayed?”

 

The man turned toward the tents and pinched his lips slightly, “Aye. His son convinced him not to turn his back on the war again, though I can’t seem to find him anywhere. I believe the prince has left the fields of Erebor.”

 

Bilbo nodded his head slowly, “If, at all possible, I would appreciate it if you could arrange a meeting between him and I. There is something… That I must discuss with him if he is willing to listen to a thief.”

 

Bard agreed and told him he would try to do what he could. They parted ways, a few more menfolk stepping forward to carry what Bilbo had brought out for the day before they too followed their new king.

 

It wasn’t until much later that an unfamiliar dwarf approached him with a letter in hand and a face twisted in disgust at the elvish-styled scrawl stretched across the front of the parchment. As soon as Bilbo took it the dwarf dashed off the way he had come, and Bilbo read the letter as short as it was. An agreement to meet one last time on neutral grounds at the Lord’s tent before he returns to Mirkwood.

 

He tucked the note into his pocket and turned back to the treasury with his last task in mind.

 

~~~

 

The slight pitch of Thranduil’s brows came as no surprise to him after what he had said. He waited patiently as the elf processed his words and examined him from his high seat at the opposite end of the tent. His guards had been waved away so that their conversation would be more private, and right now Bilbo wasn’t certain if it had been a good or bad idea. “For the Arkenstone that you stole and turned over to us?”

 

Bilbo nodded softly and turned his eyes to his dirtied feet as he took a slow breath. “Yes. As it stands, both of you have something that the other desires to have returned. Knowing Thorin’s distrust of elves, and your…” He searched for a proper word, “Loathing of negotiations with him, I took it upon myself to do this last thing while he is unable to protest it.”

 

He looked back up to ice blue eyes and swallowed drily, “In return for the Arkenstone, I will find all of the jewels you had sent to commission the dwarves for your late queen, and I will return them to you to the best of my abilities while I still have access to the vaults.”

 

A curious hue crept over Thranduil’s shoulders as he leaned forward and pinned him with a long, piercing stare. Bilbo tried to withstand it for as long as he could, turning his attention to the waves of dark green that made up Thranduil’s base color. There was a punctuation of longing, and a swatch of darkness along the left side of his face softly tinted in swirls of magic. He must be hiding that then if there was magic there. “And what do you get from this exchange, thief?”

 

“Nothing. I just desire a chance for your kingdoms to exist without the threat of war between you.” That was partially a lie, but he meant it when he said he didn’t want a war to be on the horizon for them. His reward for doing this would be the chance to right his wrongs, or at least give Thorin what he had come all this way for in the first place.

 

“I have heard rumors of halflings and their inability to share our sight. Tell me, how is it you expect to find what it is that I desire?”

 

Bilbo hesitated. He reached into his coat carefully and removed a bundle of old velvet, the edges mostly eaten by moths or flame. He took a few steps closer to the throne once he was given permission and carefully undid the folds he had made previously. A soft white light poured from the red fabric, and Bilbo heard a choked sound leave the elf seated in front of him, “Because these gems, like the Arkenstone, are much more different than anything else in the mountain. You should trust that I will be able to find your gems because, as you can see, I have already found them. Little under two hundred of them rest here in my hands.”

 

“It is dangerous to tell me this, let alone show your only bargaining chip,” Thranduil spoke as he stood from his throne. He approached Bilbo in measured paces and lifted one of the loose gems between narrow, willowy fingers.

 

“I should take them from you and throw you from my camp.”

 

“You won’t. You have more dignity and respect than to turn away someone willing to give you what you want for something that would only give you a few years of entertainment. These gems mean much more to you than that greed soaked crystal. I could see that much when you held Thorin captive in your halls.” Bilbo spoke with a confidence he didn’t quite feel, but he hoped everything he was saying would ring true for Thranduil.

 

The king dropped a single stone to pick up the delicate chain that led to a beautiful arrangement of them in the center. His fingers brushed over the piece gently with a bloom of sorrowful color pouring from his chest. “I will give you what it is you seek.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So it's been a few months since I've updated this piece. I hope I haven't worried anyone with the thought of abandoning this story! I, however, did need a break to just sit back and think on how to continue and consider how much longer I plan on making this little drabble. I hope the new chapter was interesting enough for you all!
> 
> I'm not certain when the next update will come, as I've become quite busy for the next couple of weeks, but I do plan on updating it in a more timely manner, haha.
> 
> Thank you all for your patience! We'll see you next time!


	7. Author's Note

Hey guys! Sorry it's taking me so long to update this! At first, I planned on the next chapter being the end but I saw a chance to expand a little on this and make things kind of alright for the company. So I deleted the chapter and started over. That was a few months ago.

 

I hate that I've left this to sit for so long, it's such a fun concept- even if it means like... Having to completely rework my entire brain to think of the new color palettes I use for everyone. They're not just tans and pale and brown, silver, blonde, black & white. They're watercolour and smoke and rivulets of emotions, scents, textures. It's kind of funny the amount of information I've collected just to make sure I don't mess up on anyone's profile lol.

 

But I wanted to mention why I still haven't been able to update;  
At the start of the year, my grandmother had to be rushed to the hospital. She's recovered but she also received some pretty bad news. She has brain cancer- but it's treatable. So she's moved into my already large household so we can supervise and help her around. She lost a lot of her strength and balance because of the initial visit to the hospital and needs around the clock care until she's built her strength back up. That means I haven't really had a chance to sit down and tend to my hobbies- my poor plants are screaming for pruning and regular watering again lmao. And I dearly miss drawing and writing, but I'm able to sneak in a few colors, a few lines of words here and there. A sip of water for those thirsty, thirsty plants!

 

Anyway, I'm going to be busy helping her for a good while (They figure until June at the earliest before she can go home) and my writing has been slowed a lot. This doesn't mean I'm dropping the story- I have no intention of doing that to you all. I hate leaving a story half told if I can help it! It just means you might be waiting a while yet until I can get back to semi-regular posting. I hope you guys can bear with me and won't mind too much. I really appreciate the kindness you all have shown me in the comments on past chapters, and the patience you're showing right now with how long I've been away. Just a little longer, friends.


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